


Mergers and Acquisitions

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange 2020Prompt for Arthur/Saito (with a tiny bonus Eames/Robert): Moving in togetherSaito asks Arthur to move in with him. Arthur panics and says no (but re-thinks it).
Relationships: Arthur/Saito (Inception)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	Mergers and Acquisitions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soup/gifts).



> For [usersoph.tumblr.com](https://usersoph.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Now with fantastic art by [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati) and [blackdyed](https://blackdyed.tumblr.com/post/624977439715655680/art-for-mergers-and-acquisitions-by)!

When Arthur emerged, exhausted, from Narita airport, he discovered that Saito’s personal driver was waiting to pick him up, rather than one of the fleet of Proclus Global’s drivers. It wasn’t the first time he’d sent Haru, by any means, but Arthur felt a tiny unaccustomed flutter in his stomach as he settled into the backseat. Saito was generally subtle in his actions right up until he felt it was wasted effort, and Arthur had grown used to parsing the possible significances of each gesture. It had been a very enjoyable game between them, but this time...

Haru glanced at him in the rearview mirror and let his eyes crinkle a little in an implied smile. “Welcome home,” he said, with only the faintest stress on the second word, and then pulled into traffic with the ease that always made Arthur think of an otter slipping happily into a river.

Arthur watched the countryside give way to the city through the car window, feeling Japan settle around him with a slight twist of strangeness, and he wondered if this was how Eames felt when he put on a forgery for a job that he’d spent a long time practising— familiarity based on repeated exposure, but overlaid with a gravity that meant This Time Counted. He shook his head at his own whimsy. This wasn’t a job. This was...something much more intimate, in a strange way, than simply ruffling about in someone’s head.

Then they were maneuvering through Tokyo proper and Arthur found himself getting more and more jittery as they got closer to Proclus Global’s downtown building, which was _ridiculous_. He’d stayed with Saito in his residence at the top of the building many times since Saito had first oh-so-genteelly propositioned him after the Fischer job. Hell, he’d left for his last job from here just a couple of months ago.

The difference was that this was his first time back since Saito had asked him to move in. Since he’d panicked and said no.

* * *

Saito ran his fingers over the cool oval inkstone, almost as dark as the ink stick waiting in its box beside it, caressing the slope and curve of of the well while he considered the blank paper before him.

He thought about the strong slope of Arthur’s shoulder, gracefully angling up to his supple neck, and smiled as he poured a little clear water on to the stone, delicately grinding the ink stick against it until he was satisfied with the opacity of the resulting ink.

The bamboo brushes called to his fingers but he let his hands settle on his thighs instead as he knelt on the cushion, his breathing slowing, his focus narrowing to the waiting paper before him, letting the moment stretch and stretch until the image cried out for creation, demanding the touch of the brush across the texture of the surface. He held himself back until the inevitability of the painting lifted his hand almost without his volition, choosing a brush by feel and gathering ink in it, knowing the first stroke long before the brush even made contact, made a trail dark and wet and glistening, knew the next stroke and the next and the next...

Was it the incline of a mountain or the strong line of Arthur’s shoulder and arm that lay starkly on the paper? The sweep of a horizon or the surprising delicacy of his collarbones, so sensitive under the touch of fingers or lips? Would this curve imply both the graceful droop of a willow and the exquisite bend of Arthur’s neck, nape exposed, the shiver of his desire reflected in the tremble of the petals that dotted the branching line?

Saito lifted the brush clear of the paper, setting it down gently, and breathed through the waves of his arousal until it ebbed and his body was under his resolute control again.

Arthur had been gone far too long, in his admittedly biased opinion.

* * *

Arthur had spent a fair of time thinking about the fight they’d had about this last job, a complicated and risky extraction on a Russian mafia boss that Saito hadn’t wanted him to accept. Arthur had been incredulous when Saito had outright ordered him not to accept the job. He’d laughed scornfully and asked to see Saito’s receipt for his purchase, continuing to pack his suitcases.

It hadn’t been their first argument; Saito himself admitted he was high-handed and used to command, and Arthur, for all that he loved Saito’s occasionally domineering ways in bed, didn’t take orders well outside of certain very restricted parameters.

And if Arthur was more than a little skittish at being constrained by anybody after following Cobb around the world for so long and trying to manage his messes, well, Saito knew that intimately from the careful negotiations they’d picked their way through as their relationship progressed.

Arthur had to laugh sometimes, maybe a little bitterly. Knowing his own issues and triggers, _he’d_ never have committed to a relationship with himself. He didn’t really understand why anyone else would, but he was selfish enough to accept what Saito offered. Until Saito had unexpectedly offered him more than he’d been prepared to consider.

There was one benefit to their arguments, at least; Saito was the most adept lover Arthur had ever had and, when he turned his full attention to physical apologies, he could take Arthur apart like no one ever had before. And while Arthur would be the first to admit he had control issues, in those times when Saito took absolute charge, his open delight in Arthur’s compliance made it easy to entrust their shared pleasure to those strong elegant hands.

Saito had indeed apologized after that argument, and Arthur had been so relieved he’d given himself over to Saito without reserve that night. The morning after, he’d woken stretched out under Saito’s sleep-heavy limbs, warm and sated and just a little bit achy, and, as they’d stirred, he’d let Saito bite neat little marks of possession across his thigh.

But, after a quiet breakfast together, Saito’s leg warm alongside Arthur’s at the small table, Arthur had dressed, picked up his suitcases, and waited for the elevator at the residence’s entrance. He’d already been thinking about the upcoming job when Saito had set a hand on his shoulder and asked him, matter-of-factly, to move in permanently just as the elevator door slid open. Something inside Arthur had flinched and he’d said no before his brain could rein in his mouth, then bolted into the elevator to flee for Moscow.

He’d panicked. Arthur had admitted it to himself by the time he was seated on the plane, but such an unusual reaction for him required time to process. He had given himself a week to think it over and work it out while he started to gather data on their mark, but four days in he’d found himself sending Saito a text. **Sorry. Panicked. Thinking it over.**

Saito, in one of his humorous moods, had texted him back only a thumbs-up emoji and Arthur had found himself smiling. The man could be so unexpected, and in private... Well.

The next morning the job had gone to absolute hell. Arthur had spent three frantic days hiding and getting the rest of his team safely out of the country before the mark had caught up with him just a few miles shy of the border.

* * *

Saito set the painting aside to dry, his mouth curving a little wryly at it. Perhaps he’d have it mounted and hung in one of the more public rooms; it might be amusing to discover if any visitors were inexplicably stimulated by it.

He walked the hall to his study, smiling at the changes and additions that had just been made throughout the residence. He hoped Arthur would be pleased by them. Saito felt he had little enough to offer the extraordinarily self-sufficient point man, and tended to dedicate a large amount of thought to what might entice Arthur to a more permanent bond.

It had been a serious miscalculation to try to keep Arthur from taking this last job, no matter the disaster it had turned out to be. While Arthur enjoyed Saito’s control in bed more often than not, he had never and likely would never react well to being protected. This was a difficult concession for Saito, and the most common cause of their infrequent arguments.

At Saito’s apology, Arthur had relaxed and let Saito take him apart that night, Saito ensuring Arthur’s delight with careful deliberation before losing himself in their shared pleasure.

But in the morning, when Saito had quietly offered his home to Arthur, Arthur had frozen and then all but run away.

He’d been taken aback at that reaction, but wisely had not taken it personally. He occasionally ran afoul of the tangle of Arthur’s emotional cross-wirings, but they were both careful to navigate around them once discovered. Saito certainly had his own triggers, but a lifetime of stern restraint and expectations, both external and internal, gave him a certain advantage over Arthur’s rather more painfully acquired self-control.

And Arthur himself more than made up for the few miscommunications they’d had. Arthur, as dangerous as Saito’s own highly-trained bodyguards, was intelligent and refined, curious and insatiable in any quest for knowledge, and had a wry sense of humor that blended well with Saito’s own dryness. He was so responsive in bed that Saito had occasionally found himself fighting an unseemly public arousal if he allowed himself to think on it too long. Even through Arthur’s tailored layers, Saito had only to brush a thumb over Arthur’s nipple to make his breath catch, his pulse beat faster in his throat, and a blush rise as he looked down, a hint at offering the nape of his neck.

A faint smile crossed Saito’s mouth as he sat at his desk. Arthur knew well that little weakness of his. There were few things that could cause Saito to react, however slightly, in public, but Arthur reaching up to touch that bare skin made Saito long to press him against a wall and kiss and lick and bite marks of possession there that would tell anyone with eyes that Arthur belonged to him. Their height difference made it far too easy for him to lean against Arthur’s back, hold him by the shoulders, and mouth the skin above his collar. Arthur could drive him almost beyond control just by kneeling and bowing his head forward, no matter how fully dressed. And should he loosen his clothes beforehand and, in kneeling, let them slip down his back, exposing his nape like the most tempting of geisha...

Saito adjusted himself in his trousers gently and mentally scolded himself. Arthur would be home soon and would need a little more care than to have Saito fall upon him in a desperate ravening frenzy. That could be deferred until the next day, he considered judiciously.

* * *

The mark hadn’t had him roughed up too badly, although his ribs had ached for the next month, and Arthur still occasionally found himself favoring his right arm a little, the shoulder painful from where they’d restrained him while they asked their questions. They hadn’t gotten any answers, but the man had insisted that Arthur owed him and wanted a little job done for him, and Arthur hadn’t exactly been in a position to refuse.

He’d had plenty of time while doing his research to consider his relationship with Saito and conclude that he’d been an idiot, and, if he managed to get back from this job in one piece, he wanted nothing more than to wake to that tiny pleased smile every morning that he could.

He missed Saito desperately; wanted to fall into that calm and rest there, wanted to elicit those tiny expressions in public that meant amusement or pleasure, wanted those occasions when Saito would demand that Arthur give himself over to him, just for a bit, just until they were both sated and wrung out.

He’d managed to send an anonymous email to an anonymous drop, knowing Saito would get it eventually and would know who sent it. **Delayed. Out of contact for now. Yes, if offer still stands.**

The job had taken over a month to complete successfully, and, at the end of it, Arthur had been taken directly to Domodedovo airport and invited to make himself scarce as soon as he could purchase a ticket.

* * *

The delay had made Saito want to take over the Russian Federation and shoot people until they told him where Arthur was. He knew the job had gone awry even before Eames had called him from Robert Fischer’s estate in Australia, concerned at the message Arthur had gotten out to the dreamsharing community to avoid the situation there if at all possible.

“Of course Dmitri Volyakov is dangerous! Why was he doing an extraction on him in the first place?”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your distress for his well-being when he returns, Mr Eames,” Saito had replied calmly.

“Too bloody right I’m distressed. He’s the best in the business and the only point man I trust. Why didn’t you just tell him...no, hold up, sorry, that was stupid.”

“Indeed.”

“Hard-headed pain in the arse...” Eames had sighed. “Just...will you ask him to text when he can? His friends are concerned.”

“I will pass that along when I see him.”

“Hah. Am I detecting a hint of frustrated worry there? Planning a hostile takeover of a country next? Domination of the world’s energy not enough anymore?”

“And how is Robert Fischer these days, Mr Eames?”

Eames’ voice had softened. “Robby’s doing very well. Alright, alright, I’ll leave Arthur in your capable hands, but if you need to mount a rescue...”

“I will indeed let you know, should that occasion arise.”

It had not, thankfully, although the little information he was able to pry out of the area told him that Arthur had been mildly injured and that had made him contemplate a slow and extraordinarily painful vengeance for quite some time. He still held that option open should Arthur show any signs of long-term damage. He knew he could be quite unreasonable when it came to Arthur’s body.

\- - -

The first time he had painted kanji onto Arthur’s bare skin had been less than a year ago, and he’d only managed a simple haiku along the side of his hip before Arthur could stay still under the brush no longer.

After, Arthur had stood naked in front of a mirror, staring at it while Saito had lain watching him, idly stroking himself at the sight of the inked characters on Arthur’s pale skin, the shift of Arthur’s lean muscle underneath.

Arthur’s Japanese was quite excellent, but Saito had been less sure of his ability to translate poetry.

“Botan shibe fukaku / wake izuru hachi no / nagori kana.” Arthur had spoken softly, thoughtfully. “A haiku by Basho, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You are not mistaken,” Saito had acknowledged, waiting.

Arthur had traced the lines down his flank, a smile curling his well-shaped mouth as he considered. When his fingers shifted to caress the curve of his own backside, Saito knew he’d managed the translation. “Something like...how reluctantly the bee emerges from deep within a peony.”

And Saito had returned the teasing smile and pulled Arthur back into bed, to further plunder the exceptional man who graced his home.

\- - -

A month after, Arthur had asked him if he would paint the haiku on him again and whether Saito had a recommendation for a tattoo artist.

The memory of the resulting tattoo distracted him utterly from business, and Saito set aside his work and retired to the bedroom, to await Arthur’s arrival with the pleasurable distraction of a detective manga he’d been intending to read for some time.

* * *

The elevator door slid open to reveal Saito’s chief of staff waiting for him in the hallway. Yukiko, a tiny and deadly woman, ruthlessly competent and terrifying during the sparring sessions he’d been invited to, was also Saito’s lead bodyguard, and Arthur had often reminded himself to never introduce Ariadne to her.

She was unreservedly dedicated to Saito and Arthur suffered a moment’s qualm. If she decided his presence or even his further existence was a threat to Saito’s well-being or peace of mind, he had no doubt she would take whatever steps necessary to remedy the situation.

Her mouth quirked. “Welcome home,” she said with the same tiny emphasis on ‘home’ that Haru had used, and gestured him to follow her down the hallway. She lightly touched an ikebana arrangement of blue peonies as she passed, drawing his attention to them in her delicate way, and Arthur found himself blushing as he thought about the tattoo that started under his collarbone and traced over his shoulder, a delicate dance of blue peonies in the sumi-e style that Saito had painted on him one memorable spring evening. Hidden deep among the petals of the fullest bloom was the barest hint of a striped body. It had been his second tattoo, after the haiku that trailed down the opposite hip.

Arthur followed her, trying to reclaim the calm that Saito’s residence had always instilled in him, but it wasn’t until he caught sight of a small bronze statue in a wall niche, beautifully lit to draw the eye to it in the hallway, that he felt the tension he’d carried melt away.

It was a reproduction of the Chimera of Arezzo, and the broken claw on one of the back paws meant it was the one his grandfather had given him as a teenager. His breath caught at seeing it there, displayed so prominently in Saito’s household, and he reached out to trail his fingers along the ribcage of the lion body as he had always done, the repeated motion having left a faintly polished streak along the bronze after so many years.

Yukiko favored him with a small smile and gestured to the sitting room as they passed. On the far wall was Arthur’s reproduction of _The Demon Seated_ by Mikhail Vrubel. It was not representative of Saito’s taste, but it had been integrated beautifully into the serene sitting room, giving the painting a more meditative air than the brooding gaze it normally wore. It looked...like it belonged.

Yukiko led him to a room that Arthur knew had previously been a little-used guest room. It now held his heavy inlaid wooden desk and file cabinet and a pair of antique leather club chairs from Paris he’d had lovingly restored some years ago. _His_ office furniture, brought here and arranged with care to take the best advantage of the windows.

Displayed on a table along the window wall was the bonsai Saito had given him when he’d first approached Arthur, a Japanese maple trained in the simple upright broom style that Arthur had treasured as soon as he’d laid eyes on it.

Yukiko’s alert gaze tracked around the room to make sure it was still arranged to her high standards, and, having found it acceptable, then turned the same approving look on Arthur. “When you are ready, he is waiting for you.” Arthur immediately made a move towards the door and she laughed, holding up a hand. “There is no particular rush, Arthur-san. This is the first time in weeks that he has taken the time to read that manga of his. Feel free to shower and change and be comfortable.”

“Has he been so busy?” Arthur asked softly.

She gave him a stern look. “He has not taken the time for relaxation since your foolhardy choice of work met with disaster.”

Arthur sighed. “Please don’t hold back in your opinions at all, Yukiko-san.”

“The next time you do something so foolish, I will take care of the matter myself without consulting him.”

He bowed to her. “If I do something that foolish again, I will deserve to have you take care of the matter.”

“Just so.” She graced him with a single firm nod and turned to leave, pausing at the door and turning a slight smile on him again. “But welcome home, nonetheless. He has missed you dreadfully.”

* * *

Saito was absorbed in the adventures of Tachibana Sakon and Ukon, and missed Arthur’s quiet entry into the bedroom. Detecting motion, he looked up as Arthur knelt gracefully beside the chair, hands on his thighs and head bowed slightly, wrapped in his favorite silk robe, clean shaven, his dark hair still damp and curled from a shower.

He set the manga aside quickly, feeling the familiar twist of arousal that the point man could inspire by his simple presence. “Arthur,” he said, low and rough.

Arthur looked up at him, just a little uncertain, and Saito tugged him up and pulled him into a straddle across his thighs, settling his hands on Arthur’s hips and leaning forward to inhale at the base of his throat. “My Arthur,” he said, a growl against the pulse beating there under Arthur’s skin.

He pushed the robe aside to kiss the tattooed flowers that trailed under Arthur’s collarbone, remembering with a deep pleasure how Arthur had bitten his lip and clutched at the sheets to stay still under his ink brushes.

At the point of Arthur’s shoulder, he took a deep breath and let the grip of his hands on Arthur’s hips relax.

“Don’t apologize,” he said swiftly, as Arthur opened his mouth. “There is no need for it. We’ll talk later of how I pushed you into such a reaction but please...right now...”

“Saito,” Arthur breathed. “Yes.” And he slid the robe off, letting it slither to the floor. Saito leaned in to worship him again, welcoming him home with every touch.

* * *

Arthur woke, warm and drowsy, with Saito still asleep and splayed on his usual side of the bed, one possessive hand resting on Arthur’s thigh. The morning light was just beginning to filter into the room, but Arthur could already see some of his own things scattered about, the same as throughout the rest of the residence.

His belongings had been blended beautifully into Saito’s residence, and the fear that had choked him before, that he would be entirely absorbed and lost, seemed distant now as he looked around and saw that Saito had yielded space for him, had left Arthur room to remain himself. He’d been afraid of losing his edge, of giving in to Saito utterly, of letting an indulgence become an addiction.

He’d been afraid that that was what Saito _wanted_ from him.

* * *

Saito woke, keeping his eyes shut and basking in the moment. Arthur was here, was safe, was warm under his hand. He suffered a moment of wry contrition as he remembered how he had lost all his planned restraint as soon as he had gotten Arthur to the bed. He'd spurred them on for hours, had driven Arthur to wildly abandoned cries, had left them both panting with their shared pleasure until they were too exhausted for more. He lay, utterly content, listening to Arthur's breathing and feeling the faint pulse along the inside of Arthur's thigh under his fingertips.

He felt a sudden trickle of amusement as the pace of that breathing shifted and the pulse sped ever so slightly. Arthur was also thinking, almost loudly enough to hear.

Saito turned to him, pushing up onto one elbow and running his thumb over Arthur’s mouth just to feel his lips part under the light pressure.

“My guess is that you feared I would attempt to take you over. To incorporate you.” Saito watched the humor flare in Arthur’s eyes at his use of the business terms, felt the curl of the smile under his fingers. “I am much more interested in an alliance, my dangerous and deadly flower.”

He savored the quick wrinkle of Arthur’s nose at the endearment, ducked down to draw the tip of his nose against a dimple.

Arthur made a motion as if to nip at his nose, not making contact. “A merger rather than an acquisition.” His voice was morning-rough, but his eyes were alight with his relief and his hopes.

Saito’s smile broadened into a feral grin. “We shall become a legendary combination that will be feared in boardrooms around the world, Arthur.”

Arthur laughed and turned to press his lean length against Saito, burrowing into his warmth. “I think we should practice the merging aspect of this a bit more before we start planning to terrorize board members, Saito.”

Saito pulled him closer and teased his mouth over Arthur’s. “Mmm, I’ll accede to that proposed amendment and...”

Arthur huffed a laugh and kissed him. “Sex now, contract terms later.”

And Saito smiled as he moved Arthur into place, into the space where he belonged, fitting them together to their greatest benefit. That was one of his finest talents, after all.


End file.
